


Fragile Beings

by NorsePearl



Series: Worship the Dark [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Au Ra Xaela (Final Fantasy XIV), Domestic Fluff, Emet-Selch tries so hard, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Romantic Fluff, Sick Character, forced hygiene sessions, healer life, snuggleslut, support Ascian, tender sarcasm, what is a beta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorsePearl/pseuds/NorsePearl
Summary: It's a well known fact that those whose job is to tend to others do not show the same care in taking care of themselves when they themselves need it. Whether it's lucky or not the WoL gets a self appointed caretaker when she falls ill.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: Worship the Dark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612825
Comments: 40
Kudos: 118
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV - Emet-Selch x WoL Recommendations





	1. An Ascian's Assessment

After so many lifetimes it still never ceased to amaze him just how much these broken beings could speak without saying a single thing of value. Most of the time during these discussions in the Emet-Selch was content to simply stand there, draped against the wall while the Scions and the Exarch were caught up in their discussions regarding the Lightwardens and their silly little plan to slay them. It wasn't worth his attention at the very moment, considering they had gone over this plan at least twice already. Or… was it three times? It didn’t matter. Other things held a more prominent spot in his mind, for instance… where was the esteemed Warrior of Light? True, she was often later than the others, but this was too fashionably late, even when considering her lack of punctuality in these little meetings of theirs.

If any of the Scions noticed the Ascian's departure through the swirling dark portal, none of them called after him as he took his leave. Perhaps they were still bickering about which route to take. Or the most likely they were just happy to see him go as they had often been. It was a boring conversation anyway, and there were more pressing matters at hand.

* * *

  
  
  


This time of day the Pendants were usually quiet, which served him well as he stepped out from the dark shadows. Not that he couldn't sneak around as it suited him, but still… she  _ was _ a famed Ascian slayer. So it was still sensible to be just the slightest bit cautious. Emet-Selch raised one gloved hand to rap his knuckles against the wooden door. Twice… then twice again. No answer, at least not until a few seconds had passed and he considered searching elsewhere than the Warrior of Light's personal chambers. That was when his ears picked up the faint sound of movement inside. Were those… words? Possibly.

Silently he pushed the door open, peering into the somewhat dim room. The blinds were closed, and by all looks and appearances it seemed that she had not yet risen. Sure, Emet-Selch knew the allure of staying curled up in bed for some much needed and deserved relaxation, but still… weren't the hero in a hurry to slay the remaining Lightwardens in their most likely futile attempt to restore the First? A wry grin played across his lips as he stepped further into the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

"Really, hero…?" His voice rose in a tired drawl as he walked, almost leisurely making his way through the room and up the small steps where the bed stood against the wall. "Leaving all the riveting discussions regarding your oh so important missions to your friends while you sle--"

His teasing reprimand came to a sudden halt as he heard what was unmistakably heavy breathing from underneath the covers, and his lips quirked in a wry smirk. Well well, this made it even more amusing! Getting a rise out of the vaunted hero of the Source was always worth his time, and so the Ascian leaned down, one hand behind his back while the other reached out towards the bulky duvet.

It was a simple task to pull the covers aside, and Emet-Selch made sure to put on his most award winning smile for what was bound to be quite an interesting reaction from the young woman underneath the covers. As expected, her skin was flushed, sweaty, her breathing heavy… yet there were certain details that seemed… amiss. Glassy eyes, messy and sweaty hair that stuck to those flushed cheeks and caught in her dark horns, a lethargic body language and not the type of body fluids he had initially expected to smell.

His expression fell, his eyes widening as he not so successfully attempted to hide his disgust at the less than pleasant sight, lips sneering and an unenthusiastic 'ew' left him.

Mortals were such an unappealing sight whenever they got sick like this. Why, she looked like a complete mess. Of course she had been tired the last days and attempted to hide it from her companions, but then again, this is what happened when one pushed oneself too far. Weak as their bodies were, they could only compensate until a certain point before their limited bodies could go no further. Absolutely  _ disgusting  _ and sad.

Just as Emet-Selch was about to pull back and let go of the covers lest he caught whatever she had, the sickly xaela woman managed to speak up, her usual clear and bright voice riddled with whatever nasty muck that made her breath so raspy.

“W… water, please…” she pleaded in a rather pathetic manner, and the Ascian arched an eyebrow as he considered her and her request. By the looks of her she was running a fever, her lips were slightly pale, chapped, and the dryness as she spoke… yes, she was dehydrated. Briefly he considered just stepping away through the darkness and not bother with this whole scenario. It wasn’t like she was going to die from something as  _ pathetic _ as this, and the others were bound to come check on her sooner or later. That’s when one of her hands managed to grab onto his sleeve, tugging weakly at it. In response a sigh rose from his chest, and he exhaled slowly.

“Very well…” If he didn’t, who knows how much Lahabrea’s former vessel would badger him with petty insults and annoying behaviour? Besides, perhaps this would be the way to persuade them that his intentions were as he had stated before. Where words had failed, where his logic had fallen upon deaf ears, just maybe kind actions would suffice to convince them of his sincere wish to cooperate with them. And so a plan formed in Emet-Selch’s head, watching her with an analytic gaze and trying to ignore the possibility that he himself might have to deal with the same illness that had befallen her.

Testing whether she would allow him to step away now that he had verbally agreed to help her, Emet-Selch pulled his arm away and made his way over to the nearby dresser where she appeared to have prepared a pitcher of water the night before, picking it up along with a single drinking glass. Once he handed the filled glass to the xaela she managed to make a weak sound of what he assumed was ‘thanks’, and as expected she drank greedily… and rather sloppily as she attempted to push herself upright on weak limbs. An exasperated look crossed his features as he watched her, spilling water down her already drenched top and onto the bed covers. What an undignified display, and rather unlike her. Sure, she wasn’t the most sophisticated creature, but even so Emet-Selch had a harder time in hiding just what he thought of these shattered souls. “I know you’re not feeling yourself, but  _ please _ … there’s hardly any reason to make your bed even more messy in this manner,” he chided her, reaching out to take the glass and forcibly slow down her drinking. And perhaps disrupt her chances at soaking the bed even further.

It appeared that she was willing to let him steady the glass at least, and even if she seemed to soak up the water faster than a dry sponge at least now she didn’t spill more of the contents over herself. While it might have been amusing to see her with her shirt all soaked and clinging to her skin, this was hardly the venue for it. Finally she let go of the glass, gasping for breath and sounding absolutely  _ dreadful _ while doing so, her breath wheezing with just the slightest squeaking noise. 

“You’re in no shape to head out today,” the Ascian idly commented as he set the glass aside, peering down at the smaller and quite frankly, pitiful creature. If she were to head out to the battlefield there’s no way she would be able to lead them, even less keep them alive. Fortunately it appeared that the sickly xaela agreed with him on this, or perhaps she was too tired to argue. Judging by the look on her face it might have been the latter, as she eventually just nodded her head once. Though slowly she looked up at him, those yellow eyes of hers lacking their usual fire as she seemed to be trying to convey something without words. In response the Ascian raised a quizzical eyebrow, as if waiting for her to speak. What? A few seconds passed, and eventually Emet-Selch let out a heavy sigh of annoyance. Since when had he gone from being a grand and respected Emperor to a mere errand boy? If she had been in higher spirits he would have simply brushed the request aside, but she was simply looking so… pathetic. “Fine, fine… I’ll let them know on your behalf. Do me a favour and don’t try anything stupid as attempting to get out of bed while I let your friends know you’ll be resting, hm?”


	2. Bedside Mummery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the WoL's condition determined, it's time for the Ascian caretaker to get to business. All while having some fun for his troubles.

Honestly, he hadn’t been too concerned with whatever words the Scions and the Exarch had to spare for him after he had delivered his message regarding the hero being out of commission for the time being. With all of them blabbering their mouths at once it was hard to pick anything of significance out senseless prattle, and Emet-Selch had merely rolled his eyes at the noise as he assured that yes, he had it under control. For a moment he was even waiting for the Exarch to run to his beloved hero’s side in order to aid her, but no, that didn’t happen. Instead they had settled on the option to some research on their own to prepare for their next expedition into the wilds of Norvrandt, and it suited him just fine. Why, he even swore that Lahabrea’s former vessel only glared at him for twenty seconds now instead of the usual thirty. Indeed, this entire situation was certainly progress in so many ways. If one disregarded the threats and warnings given should they happen to find the hero to suffer under his observation and care. As if they were able to do any better, those  _ primitives _ .

  
  


Soon enough Emet-Selch found himself once again in the hero’s slightly darkened chambers, pleased to see that she had heeded his words and were still curled up in her messy bed, still quite the disgusting sight in her moment of weakness. What a peculiar sight, seeing the fierce Warrior of Light, the woman who had taken down primals and his fellow Ascians in heated battle, now reduced to…  _ this _ . Even something as simple as breathing seemed to give her significant trouble, her breath raspy and quicker than normal, yet not so quick that he grew overly concerned with plan B falling apart just yet. There was little life in those limbs that had bestowed death upon many a foe. Absolutely pathetic, really. A healer that was now very much helpless and unable to keep even herself in good condition when she really should know better. Was the reason for her physical condition caused by the excess light gathering in her weak, mortal frame the reason for her falling ill when the others had not? Voicing none of these thoughts he instead sauntered back towards the bed, raising an eyebrow as he considered her. For now it was better to get back to the task at hand, to ensure that the Warrior of Light would be fit for fighting the Lightwardens again.

“Now.” Stopping next to her bed he clapped his gloved hands, looking her over. “If I were you, which I’m fortunately not, I would seek to alleviate those respiratory problems with a better posture. Up you go.” In her current slumped position there was no way her simple body would be working efficiently. A sound of protest left her as he reached down behind her back to pull her upright, steadying her by the shoulder. What kind of healer didn’t even know how their own bodies worked? But weak as she were it was a simple task to force her upright, and the Ascian watched her as he briefly considered her current needs and how they could be easily fixed. “I take it you have not partaken of breakfast yet…?” he inquired in an almost bored tone. As expected she shook her head weakly. Of course she hadn’t. “By the pitiful way you look I also surmise you are running a fever, lucky you.” That would certainly explain her being so lethargic, as well as sweaty and so warm to the touch he could even feel it through his gloves and clothes as she had to lean on him partially for support. Small, frail… and utterly sweaty, getting his clothes slightly damp. How… delightful.

“First on the agenda on your road to recovery… let’s get you cleaned up. Hygiene will do you good, and quite frankly, dear hero… you simply  _ reek _ ,” Emet-Selch stated as he scrunched up his nose with a malcontent sniff. Those words from him however brought some life, some fight, to her eyes. As he raised his free hand that wasn’t supporting her it wasn’t too hard for her to figure out what was going to happen, and so she hurriedly to clear her muck ridden voice in order to protest. By that time however he had already snapped his gloved fingers to make what was most likely going to be a tedious task a little easier to deal with, for him at least. At least physically in any case… 

In a split second the Warrior of Light found herself quite bare underneath the covers, all while a filled bath tub materialized out of nothing by the foot of the bed, steam rising from its flowery scented waters. And as expected, her reaction was not a favourable one as she let out a protesting half screech, clutching at the covers as her already flushed cheeks grew possibly even redder, her right hand pushing at him to gain some distance, even if meant that she had to support herself where she was sitting.

“Y-you fucking basta--” Her curses was interrupted by a small coughing fit, all while Emet-Selch gave her a tired look and sighed, as if pleading with her to not make this even more tiresome than it was going to be. Yet… if he was going to do the Warrior of Light a favour by tending to her while she was sick, at least he deserved to get  _ some _ kind of reward, even if said reward was only amusement from seeing the hero so utterly flustered. Shy, was she? With a slight smirk he leaned forwards to peer at her, resting his gloved hands on his knees while she was busy glaring at him, desperately covering her exposed and fevered flesh. “Please purge your mind of any untoward thoughts you may have… for one, I’m hardly interested in doing  _ those _ sorts of activities with you right now, you look a mess, dear.” This was said with a slight snort as he reached out to untangle an errant tangle of hair from her horn, causing her to flinch and narrow her eyes at him in warning. “Nor would you be able to perform, I suspect, lethargic as you are. Secondly, if we were to entertain such ideas, then personally I would find it far more… entertaining and rewarding to see your clothes come off with more effort than a simple snap of my fingers,” the Ascian teased with a mischievous glimmer in his golden eyes. She in return didn’t seem quite so amused, lips trembling with indignant rage. Yet it was clear talking was still something she found quite painful right now.

“So what I’m saying is… If you could stop acting like a petulant child this would be over with _ sooo _ much sooner, hero. You have two options before you.” Taking just a moment to ensure that she was looking at him instead of ahead into the room, Emet-Selch raised his hand, extending his index finger. “One, you muster up the strength to slip into the bath I have so graciously prepared for you.” His middle finger moved to join the first. “Two, I sweep you off your feet,” he said, then coughed and corrected himself in a dramatic fashion, “Pardon... your behind, and dump you unceremoniously into the water. As amusing as that would be, I suspect the first option to be less troublesome for the both of us. Now, better make a decision before I make said decision for you.” Almost theatrically he inspected his long, gloved fingers as most people would check their nails... as if threatening another snap should she take too long to ponder her options. Perhaps that was what made the Warrior finally make her choice, as she slowly crept forwards to the edge of the bed, sliding out from underneath the covers to take the few steps into the tub on weak, shaky legs. When she spoke, her voice was riddled with both what sounded like mucus and what could possibly be annoyance. The latter was nothing new.

“... you’re  _ horrible _ .”

All in all these words didn’t do more than to make him simply offer her an innocent smile. “That’s not the worst you nor your ilk have called me.” Why, this could possibly be called progress. Considering the fact that she was getting into the bath on her own it appeared that she could be made to see reason after all, stubborn as she was. Though he couldn’t help but give the xaela woman a quick glance over before she descended into the steaming waters, flinching just slightly at the heat. Hmm, no rashes or marks on that fair skin and those slender curves that would suggest something serious regarding her current illness. At least she wasn’t all bereft of strength, though her movements were somewhat clumsy. Did the twitching of her tail mean anything of significance? Even as he studied the scales down her legs he became aware of the fact that she didn’t seem to appreciate him looking her over, giving him a rather pointed look over her shoulder. As always these fractured creatures mistook his intentions. No matter, he was done looking for now anyway. “Hurry now, before the water gets cold,” he chided her for her hesitation, not unlike a parent guiding a child. It was similar enough. Healers, while quick to tend to others, were absolutely abysmal in actually tending to their own needs. And this one was no different. While watching the hero and her companions traverse the lands of the First, how often hadn’t he seen her healing their injuries before her own, bloodied and hurting on the battlefield, yet watched the other broken beings with such concern and worry in her eyes?

The xaela however didn’t seem to like being talked to as if a child, or perhaps the fact that she was  _ naked _ in front of the enemy, despite his many offers to actually cooperate with them, made her scowl. At least she tried to, despite her frail condition at the moment. Good, let her focus her annoyance on him and get an outlet for her frustrations, it might make her feel better. But most likely it was the warm water easing up her laboured breathing.

“Even in your weakened state I trust you will be able to clean yourself. Though if you were to ask nicely I might be persuaded to scrub your back, hero,” Emet-Selch drawled, a slight tease to his tone as he turned away and stepped over to the nearby dresser, ignoring the sound of splashing water hitting the floor behind him. Now, what sort of potions did she keep in here? Was any of it useful, or just the same snakeoil that these primitives so often swore to? Behind him he heard movement in the water as she presumably washed up, leaving him the option to take his time perusing the various bottles. Most of them were indeed of little use beyond mere placebos… please, as if this potion could increase somebody’s strength for just a few measly seconds? It was peculiar what these fractured souls actually believed and peddled to one another. Sorting through them all with a bored look on his features, Emet-Selch eventually settled on two bottles. Something to loosen up the phlegm she had clogging up her airways judging by the sound of her raspy breathing, as well as an antipyretic to help with her fever. Though of course, in order to ensure that these would have the optimal effect he would have to move onto the next step of his treatment plan. “Aaah, I believe these will have to do for now.” A theatrical sigh left him as he picked up the two bottles and turned around, studying the liquid contents within while he made his way back towards the bath. In the corner of his eye he was aware of the hero looking warily up at him while raising her hands and arms in front of her bare torso, taking a break from cleaning herself up.

“Now,” he continued, gathering up his skirts as he crouched down next to the tub, resting his elbows and lower arms on the edge of it to get somewhat comfortable. By the looks of it the Warrior of Light was not quite at ease with his proximity right now. So he resisted the temptation and kept his gaze on her face lest he’d fluster the poor, sickly thing even further, no matter how amusing it would be...

“What do you want to eat, hero?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, someday I will write something that doesn't jab at something or someone. I know, I've got a horrible sense of humour but I won't apologize for it.


	3. Breakfast Bedlam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any good caretaker knows that sick people have a higher need for nourishment, and Emet-Selch puts some real effort in.

Trusting the hero to be able to handle herself for just a few minutes, the Ascian made the small trek to the kitchen in the Pendants. Honestly, it would have been a simple task for the Architect that he was to conjure up some food of her choice, but for some silly reason or another she had shook her head vehemently at the suggestion, something akin to disgust in her eyes when he was about to raise his hand and snap his fingers. How disappointing, even after him helping her get washed up, dressed and back into a clean bed… oh well, he’d have to work harder to earn her trust it seemed. And with her expecting him back there was no reason to be overly cautious upon his return. Not that she was in any shape to harm him in any way with her current condition, famed Ascian slayer or not.

Even now she was slumped forward like a bag of popotoes where she was sitting tiredly in bed, her expression one of exhaustion as she was quite obviously not entirely rejuvenated after the warm bath. Still, her breathing was not quite as rapid without those irritating sounds as she drew air into her sick lungs, and not to mention she didn’t reek of sweat as she did before. The clean bedsheets offered some better comfort than the dirty ones he had snapped out of existence as well. Of course she ought to know these things, hygiene was important when dealing with sick people. Ascending the two steps towards the bed Emet-Selch peered down at her over the bridge of his nose, clearing his throat to alert her to his returned presence. Slowly her eyes fluttered open and her head rose, her gaze moving to from the tray in his hands up to his face.

“You’re lucky,” he murmured, moving to sit down at the foot of the bed. “Normally I would insist on you at least having the decency to get out of bed and sit at the table, but considering you being even more frail than your usual fragmented self… it seems the best plan of action is to serve you breakfast in bed. Enjoy~” Carefully he set the tray on the side of the bed next to him, and she unsteadily scooted closer, hugging the clean bedcovers over her small and weakened frame. Still self-conscious, despite precious little had been left unseen to his eyes when he helped her get dressed in a clean set of clothes. Like he hadn’t seen a naked body a thousand times before over all these long, dreadful years. Of course he could understand the shame some people felt, but really, the fact that the Warrior of Light herself couldn’t see it was all for the sake of him making a proper assessment of her condition? It was amusing, considering the fact that she of all people should know better, being a healer and all. Not that she had anything to be ashamed about from what he could see. But making that statement out loud… best left alone for now, he considered. Even if she wouldn’t be able to do much damage with the cutlery she was given alongside the breakfast. A beautiful tray decorated with a napkin… and the food itself, hot and nourishing soup with some type of bird that seemed abundant in the Lakelands as well as some fruits. Food that ought to not wreck too much havoc on his patient’s delicate body and still be tasty enough to be appetizing, their appearance near immaculate for the ultimate culinary perfection. Why, surely she ought to appreciate the care he had put into all of this, all for her sake. All in order to make the plan he had proposed upon meeting her and her little rag tag gang of pests become a reality.

  
  


“Now, do eat up. Your mortal body is already inefficient enough as it is whenever you’re not affected by this illness, you will need even more nourishment if you wish to recover,” he informed her, smiling as amiably as he could… until she took the bowl in both hands, raising it to her lips to simply… drink from the bowl. Seriously. His expression well away to a scowl, one lone eyebrow twitching ever just slightly, all while his right index finger tapped at the spoon on the tray.

“While you’re not currently seated at a table, hero… I do believe  _ table manners _ still apply when eating.” Honestly, he had just gotten her bed cleaned up and she was about to dirty it with her messy eating? Unbelievable. Reaching out, Emet-Selch grabbed onto the end of the spoon, raising it towards her with a tired look, “Have  _ some _ dignity, at least…?” This was another reason why the Garlean Empire was important. While spreading the chaos necessary for the remaining rejoinings were their ultimate goal, it was clear the people on the star were severely lacking in culture and refinement.

She responded to said cultured encouragement with a sudden series of violent coughs, leaning forward as she desperately tried to expel the soup from her mouth with a distressed sound and startled, wide eyes. A rather similar sound left the Ascian when said soup hit him instead, and he half-sneered in disgust, dropping the spoon unceremoniously to the bed as he looked down at himself, then to the coughing xaela sitting a few feet away from him as a vexed expression crossed his face. She however was the first to speak, even as broken as her voice was.

“Why… so… ugh, hot and  _ spicy _ ?” she croaked through tears before she began coughing again, and Emet-Selch’s shoulders rose in a dramatic sigh before he spoke, his tone curt and tinged with disbelief.

“If this is the limit of your knowledge as a healer, then I  _ do _ wonder how your companions have stayed alive for so long…” An annoyed mutter left him as he reached up to wipe some offending broth and pieces of meat away from the front of his fine silken sash, his gaze pointed at the Warrior of Light as she was still working on regaining her ability to breathe again by the looks and sound of it. “Hot drinks in particular will help ease your ravaged breathing and make it easier for you to clear your lungs of whatever dreadful lumps of unspeakable horrors have settled there. The spices will help clear your airways up further, your voice sounds rather nasal, does it not?” Here he was, simply trying to help her, and she had  _ spat _ the soup back in his face. Even if it was unintentional, it was not exactly how he had envisioned this little endeavour of his would go.

“... it burns my tongue…” the woman muttered, half-glaring down at the bowl… just as if she were a child, he thought, rolling his eyes while an exasperated gasp leaving his lips. Did sickness really affect her to this degree? Was this why her fellow companions were avoiding her at this very hour and not here tending to her, insisting he leave her alone and cease whatever he was surely planning? Had… he been roped into this in some sort of fiendish plot of theirs? Silently counting to give himself a few moments to regather his wits, Emet-Selch placed his gloved hands together, leaning forward while watching her with determined golden eyes. “If somebody of your ilk could best Lahabrea and my fellow compatriots, stop rampaging Primals and my Empire, then by Zodiark…” He paused for dramatic effect, leaning ever closer to stare into her eyes, “I’m certain something as simple as a bowl of mere  _ soup _ won’t stop you from being victorious in this dreadful hour, hero.  _ Eat _ .”

The last word was enunciated clearly and slow, accompanied by a stern look. For some seconds the Warrior of Light merely looked back at him, then slowly reached down to the sides of the bowl when he clicked his tongue to catch her attention once more, all while he extended his hand and by proxy the spoon towards her.. “With some eating utensils this time, I suggest? Primitive as you are, there’s no need to throw  _ all _ your manners away.”

This time it appeared that his words did not fall completely on deaf ears, and the young woman took the spoon from his fingers and resumed eating, making sure to take small spoonfuls as if she were afraid she would burn her tongue and choke on the spiciness again. Allowing himself to lower his shoulders again, Emet-Selch watched her for a few moments, crossing one leg over the other where he sat on the edge of the bed. Then she spoke up, her voice still far from her usual one, even now that she wasn’t riddled with that ridiculous cough.

“On the Azim steppes it’s common to eat soup without utensils,” she managed to say, her words hoarse and clearly painful to bring forth. In response he arched an eyebrow at her.

“My dear, we are not in Othard.”

“... nor in Garlemald.”

Silence passed between them again as two sets of yellow eyes met in stubborn fashion. The ticking of the clock on the wall continued in lieu of either of them speaking, at least until she lifted the spoon back to her lips to slurp the soup up in a noisy manner, causing him to press his lips tightly together in consternation. Oh right, those barbaric Xaela believed in slurping their food to show their appreciation, did they not? Fine, let her be uncivilized then. Resting his hands on his knees he leaned forward, rising from the bed and walking over to the nearby dresser where he had placed the medication he had found before he ventured out to get her breakfast.

“When you’re done…” he started, taking a moment to consider his next words, “partaking of your soup, I suggest you take some medication. First this, then this one.” Her tired eyes glanced over to him, recognizing the bottles from he assumed, considering she nodded her head in agreement. Funny how she would argue more about the food rather than the medication, he thought to himself in wry amusement. Perhaps she was picking her battles… who knew. It mattered little as long as she didn’t contribute further to making this entire ordeal more troublesome than it was worth. Still, if he was lucky she would indeed be in his debt for this, however small. It was a first step, and if history had taught him something, it was that first steps were important, no matter how miniscule they might appear to those who couldn’t see the entire plan unfurl ahead.

Blessed near silence reigned in the room as she slurped her soup without further argument, leaving him with a moment to glance out of the window at the restored sky outside, waiting for her to finish her breakfast and take the medication. Perhaps he could get some peace and quiet while she slept… the potions would most likely make her drowsy, and by the looks of it she hadn’t caught many winks during the night. Warm soup too was known to entice people to sleep. And sure enough, after the bowl had been emptied in a less than civilised manner she pushed the tray to the side of the bed, opening the bottles of medication to down the bitter tasting contents within. Those she did not spit out, he noted sourly.

“I will be back in a while, try to get some rest, hero,” Emet-Selch declared, picking up the tray to put it somewhere safe out of her reach, who knew whether she was a restless sleeper or not. Though shortly after she had laid down and just as he was about to move to take his leave, a series of coughs erupted from the bed. Coming to a halt he turned halfway around, looking back at the Warrior of Light as her slim shoulders shook with every cough, already pushing herself up into a halfway sitting position. Oh, of course this was bound to happen, wasn’t it?

“Silly girl.” A heavy sigh left him as he stepped back towards the bed, giving her a rather pointed look as he set the tray down on the armoire. “You’ve pushed yourself for a while, haven’t you? What a pathetic excuse for a healer you are, unable to take care of even yourself...” The illness had been given time to settle further down in her lungs, evident by the coughing caused by her being unable to lie down without straining them. His comment was not warmly received by the xaela, who did her best to glare at him between coughing as he leaned closer to study her with a scrutinous look. “... I’ve…” she began, her voice rough, “tried, Ascian…” Whatever else she was going to say got lost in even more involuntary coughing, and he shook his head as he observed her just briefly, sitting down next to her to pat her roughly on the back. The most effective way for her to get some proper rest would be to ensure her lungs got to expand properly, which involved elevating her torso.

A glance around the room confirmed his earlier observations, and Emet-Selch considered his options. With no extra pillows besides the one already in the bed there were precious few things that could actually help the Warrior of Light get comfortable enough in bed to sleep. That’s when it appeared she had already decided that his frame would do as support, her smaller body slumped against his side.

An annoyed sound rose unbidden from his throat when he glanced down… and the healer had already fallen asleep. Of course those blasted potions had to work this quickly. This was unplanned for, but… he guessed it would have to do. For now.. If she were asleep she wouldn’t glare at him and argue when he was simply trying to help her to the best of his magnificent abilities and vast knowledge. And as long as he got some time to relax and close his own eyes for a nap then he would tolerate this. Okay, now he just had to get comfy himself lest his back ended up hurting even more. With his hands supporting her smaller shoulders he carefully shifted into a sitting position near the pillow, arranging her smaller body to lean back against his torso while minding his skirts and regalia. At least she wasn’t  _ sweaty _ this time around he supposed, and her breathing sounded far less ragged now when her lungs were allowed to expand as they wanted to. Once he got himself comfortable he idly wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his head back against the wall as he let the xaela lean against his chest. Sure, he could remain seated and allow himself to be a living pillow for some hours. Just how bothersome could it possibly be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the belated update, I've been busy working! So far I'm enjoying writing this quite a lot, and it's given me more ideas for more fluff!Emet-Selch fics.


	4. Restless Repose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emet-Selch is a living pillow with some minor complications.

There was  _ drool _ on his shoulder.

The pointed edge of a horn was stabbed against his collarbone, pressing in quite uncomfortably with precious little protection from the many layers of his garments.

The last time he had heard such a dreadful sound was from the slumbering hounds in the barracks back when he had been a Legatus so many years ago. By Zodiark…  _ how _ was the xaela woman able to replicate that haunting sound as she slept, and quite so close to his ear?

During the few hours the Warrior of Light had been passed out Emet-Selch had desperately tried to get some rest as well, leaning back against the wall and trying to get comfortable. But she was making it so difficult for him to simply relax where he was caught between the headboard and the hero’s sleeping body. Thoughts had gone to the days he spent as a parent, how his body’s young spawn had clung to him at all times. Sure, they had their own charm, but still there were times when he had to remind himself that he wasn’t  _ that _ heartless despite how tired he was, no matter how much they got on his sometimes frayed nerves. Even less when they were children he had sired. So he had sighed and done his best to comfort the loud and noisy offspring.

The Warrior of Light was decidedly  _ not _ a child, that might was very evident as she had tossed and turned in her restless sleep, her face now buried against his shoulder as she snored loudly, though he was gracious enough to blame said sounds on the buildup in her lungs and upper airways. Why, if circumstances had been different it might even have been quite an intimate and promising position the two of them were in right now. Her breasts pressed up against his torso, her smaller and softer form surrounded by his arms and legs, all alone in her room... But no. With her slumped against him, snoring and drooling on his shoulder, restlessly stirring and having a tendency to move her scaled legs and hard knees around without regard for certain delicate pieces of his anatomy, he found relaxation to be just beyond his reach right now.

Of course there  _ was  _ the option to simply take advantage of the fact that she was a fair bit smaller than him and push her aside, taking his leave of this quite frankly ridiculous predicament he had put himself in… but no. Emet-Selch would see this through, all for the sake of proving himself to the hero and that their goals weren’t incompatible.

Unlike her blasted horn and his poor, abused collarbone.

Grumbling, the Ascian shifted one gloved hand from the small of her back and to her shoulder, doing his best to rearrange her against him, slightly satisfied as he shifted her a bit further up to rest the side of her head against his shoulder. Better, now her horn wasn’t stabbing him anymore. And her snoring was slightly less pronounced like this, which suggested her airways were more open. A heavy sigh escaped him, making her rise and fall slightly along with the movement of his torso, and he moved his arm back in place as his mind went back to pondering this entire situation, idly brushing some of her hair away from her face, lest she get some of that drool and snot on it. It was bad enough that his clothes were stained, but at least he could clean himself up in a snap. Literally.

  
  


Emet-Selch was uncertain for just how long he had been stuck in this position as the Warrior of Light’s personal body pillow… but finally,  _ finally  _ the snoring woman woke up, violently coughing up some of that disgusting phlegm as it blocked off enough of her airways that her frail body startled her awake in order to breathe. Her arm pushed against his chest to help herself into a more upright position, a discomfort easily ignored as the Ascian observed the xaela clear out her obstructed airways, coughing roughly into the pit of her elbow. At least with her awake there would be some amusement, even if it was with her whining or arguing against his better judgement on how to treat her illness. Besides, he had just gone through several hours of discomfort and boredom for her sake, then it was only fair that he got  _ some _ amusement out of this.

  
  


Just as he had predicted, it only took a few more seconds before the Warrior of Light seemed to realize just what kind of compromising position she was in, resting against the torso of what she and her kind considered to be their enemy. Truly, they should know better by now, shouldn’t they? Her pale face jerked up, golden eyes wide as she stared at him, taking a few more moments to register just how close the two of them were judging by the look on her startled face. That’s when he decided that she was awake enough for him to speak up. “ … sleep well, hero?” he half purred the question as a smirk tugged at one side of his lips, all while the xaela tensed within his arms, still looking bewildered while desperately trying to shake off the remnants of sleep that still clung to her. “W-what…” she began, then resumed her coughing, her frail body shaking with every cough. Nonchalantly Emet-Selch took some kind of pity on the woman and shrugged his shoulders… yet also decided to push some of her buttons. “You were exhausted, dear. And I simply couldn’t be as cruel to disturb your much needed slumber. Not when you in your tired stupor had decided my shoulder was soft enough to grace your tired head,” he added truthfully and canted his head in amusement at the flustered Warrior as her lips pressed together thinly in consternation. Her expression was a particularly amusing one, wasn’t it? Had her cheeks always been this flushed? The antipyretic potion would most likely still be in effect… in fact, her breathing did sound better than it had been before she fell asleep from exhaustion and the effects of the medicine. And now with her not making that dreadful sound and not pressing uncomfortable horn edges and knees against him in various places, perhaps he could get some rest as well.

  
  


Repositioning himself against the headboard, Emet-Selch made sure to take his time in readjusting his arms, pulling the hero just sliiiightly closer lest she take advantage of the situation to merely slip away. After all, she was still in need of rest. And considering how she had worked her fractured body ragged and sick by not getting enough rest, she would undoubtedly do something to rival even Lahabrea’s unmatched levels of idiocy. Silly hero,  _ however _ had she survived up until now whenever she didn’t even take proper care of herself?

“What… w-what are you doing…?” the Warrior of Light questioned a bit tersely as best as she could with her hoarse and tired voice, glancing down at him arms around her before raising her gaze to meet his again, tensing within his grip.

“It’s not often you hero types allow yourselves a moment to simply relax when given the opportunity… So take it.” 

With that he leaned back again, still refusing to move his arms and allow her to scoot away. “And quite frankly, this tired body seems to call for some winks as well.” Refusing to argue this point with her further he closed his eyes quite demonstrably and leaned his head back against the wall as he felt the Warrior of Light attempt to pull away from him yet again. His arms were unyielding however, keeping her in place.

“I didn’t know that Ascians liked to snuggle,” she muttered sourly with a tint of annoyance and some other unreadable quality to her voice. Why did she have to question  _ everything _ so?

“While that wasn’t my primary intention for this situation where I make sure you get enough rest to heal your sickly body, it would be quite unbecoming to break the fragile trust that I seek to build between us by lying. If you and your kind can enjoy such tender moments, then why would  _ I _ be any different?”

Let her take from those words what she wanted, Emet-Selch thought for himself. At least it seemed that the words caused her to cease her silly struggling and settle against him, even if the tenseness didn’t leave her smaller form just yet. Perhaps she was still debating the rhetorical question he had posed her. Good. If she actually used that fever ridden brain to pursue that train of thought, just maybe she would come to the right conclusion and ask the right questions, to be ready to learn all the truths necessary to see that cooperation was truly a worthy way to reach their goals. After all, as one of the Source she would only gain from this...

“... this is hardly appropriate.” Even now with her resting her forehead against his shoulder, her slender arms curled up against his chest, her voice didn’t sound particularly relaxed, and the Ascian let out a dramatic sigh, feeling her shift as his chest moved underneath her.

“My dear hero, there’s nothing untoward in this situation. Unless you wish for there to be, then I  _ could _ be convinced to move my hand further down…?” he drawled with a suggestive tone of amusement, yet didn’t let his hand move from its resting spot at the small of her back. There was no need for him to open his eyes either to feel her adamantly shaking her head in a rather quick response, much as he expected she would.

“Besides,” he continued, barely stifling a yawn, “whyever would you  _ bother _ yourself by caring what others might find appropriate or not? You’re the vaunted hero of the Source, shouldn’t you allow yourself some liberties for all the hard work you’ve accomplished so far? If you waste time being overly worried about what people think of you, then you will have precious time left to actually accomplish your goals, even less  _ enjoy _ yourself now and then. And take it from me, your life is pitifully short enough as it is.”

Emet-Selch was uncertain whether she took those words to heart or not, but at least she remained still within his grip, clearing her throat as best as she could and reshuffled her legs slightly, cautious of just where she brushed her knees. Good.

“Now, do you have any further inquiries, or will you be quiet and allow me to get some rest…? Doing your job for you is quite frankly… exhausting.”

Feeling the healer raise her head slightly, it was rather easy to imagine what would most likely be an inquisitive look on her face if he were to open his eyes. But why bother? She was easy enough to read and the unasked question was only too easily guessed. So he might as well let her rest her strained vocal chords and she would show him the same consideration.

“Your lacking ability to care for yourself, hero. If I don’t continue to offer my assistance and ensure you’re fit to fight another day, then whoever will slay the Lightwardens?”

Unable to hold back the yawn he let his head roll slightly to the side, offering a pat on the Warrior of Light’s shoulder with the hand not resting at the small of her back to encourage her to lie back down, to simply go along with this quite logical course of action. Finally she kept her tongue, awkwardly settling against him with a heavy sigh, all while he felt sleep tug at his senses. At least all his hard work was slowly paying off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit harder to write, but I've laid some groundwork for other fics that will follow this one. Also, I'm in a fluff mood.


	5. Vessel Vexation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should have seen this coming.

Breathing was beyond frustrating right now. A pure struggle as he could hear a high pitched sound whenever he tried to force air in and out of his clogged airways. His skin felt too hot, and not because of the many layers of clothing he was wearing. Even if the abundant light had been driven from this place after the Lightwarden had been slain, his eyes still felt sensitive and begged for him to close them. More so than ever his limbs felt heavy like lead.

Emet-Selch had nearly forgotten how pathetic the vessels felt whenever they caught these absurd illnesses. Even here in the Crystarium where the horrible Light no longer reigned as it once had for a century, he felt weak and quite frankly… pitiful. This was probably how these fractured wretches felt all the time, he mused as he blew his stuffed nose into his handkerchief. How did they  _ stand _ this? How could they go on living when it felt like their bodies were on the verge of simply ceasing to function? All these pathetic broken beings walking past him where he was sitting on the bench, staring at him and being more concerned about him than their own miserable existences and not knowing just what was waiting in store for the Shard they lived on...

This was all her fault. Resting his hands on his knees he slumped back on the bench, noting how his back ached more than usual, not to mention the rest of his muscles. Why oh  _ why _ had he decided to actually help her at the time? Oh sure, this was nothing compared to the illnesses the Ascian had to deal with while his body had been old and prone to falling over at every minor little inconvenience, but still… this could have been avoided. It could have easily been prevented if he had actually kept his distance, perhaps… mayhap he had been carried away, letting himself get too close to the Warrior of Light during her moment of weakness. Perhaps it would pay off in the long run, but still… this was more than merely irritating right now, not to mention  _ inconvenient _ . The hero herself was slowly recovering and would most likely persuade her comrades that it was time to raise their swords at yet another Lightwarden. Which of course was something he personally wanted to oversee. But in his current situation it would be difficult, even if they were headed into the dense forests of the north eastern parts of Norvrandt. A heavy and wet sigh left Emet-Selch as he raised his head up, blinking his glassy eyes at the sunlight. The only thing that was worse than being sick was being sick  _ and _ bored.

  
  
  


Slowly Emet-Selch became aware of a voice trying to get his attention, and drearily he let his golden gaze drop from the cloudless skies up above him and drift slowly downwards… eventually finding himself looking into the stern looking face of the hero herself, who appeared to be standing right in front of him, waving a hand tiredly in his face to make sure his mind was present. Blinking once he gave her an expectant look, all before he spoke. Or tried to.

“... ye--” By Zodiark, his voice sounded  _ horrible _ . Clearing his sore throat, he attempted to answer once more. “... yes, hero?” Better, but still quite tragic and unlike his usual timbre. His vessel’s usual voice lacked its usual confident charm, and even he had to admit that he sounded absolutely miserable, just like the people around them in their pointless existence.

“I would say this is what you deserve for intruding on me when I simply wanted to be left alone,” the xaela healer stated with as much authority as she could in her still muck-ridden voice, looking down at him where he sat. Not that there was too much of a height difference between their eyes right now due to her shorter stature. Gathering up the skirts and jangling metal adornments of her robes the Warrior of Light cautiously moved to sit down next to him, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees as she folded her hands. Perhaps so she could lean forward with natural ease, narrowing her eyes as she studied him skeptically. Almost as if she believed that Ascians, or rather their vessels, couldn’t get sick… or at least that was what he assumed went through her head right now.

“Not all sick people want nor need to be taken care of by others,” she continued, her voice droning incessantly in his ears as he sighed heavily, the action setting off a series of coughs as he leaned forward, covering his mouth. This seemed to make her stop talking, merely sitting still next to him as she waited for his coughing fit to abate. Once he drew breath again she looked ahead of them towards the base of the Crystal tower, clearing her own voice with a rough cough. It was still wet, but it sounded like she was able to clear her airways better than she had just a few days ago, clearly on the mend.

“I had told the others that I would be taking it easy for a few days, it’s not often I get sick, but…” Her voice trailed off, still a bit on the rough side. Slowly she turned her head to look up at him. “Why did you do it?”

This question… just as he attempted to deliver a theatrical sigh to accent his annoyance at her inability to even try to remember the words he had said. Had her fever given her permanent brain damage and affected her ability to form short term memories? Or had she merely not even shown him the courtesy to pay proper attention to his delicately and eloquent words? He did not feel very eloquent right now, feeling his sinuses all clogged and painful, his head thudding with an ever growing headache. So instead of a sly remark, he merely let out a grumble of a response.

“... cooperation.”

Hopefully she would understand the full context of it, because he did not feel like experiencing the scratching in his throat more than absolutely necessary. They were both sick, and even if her voice had recovered some over these last few days she was still tired and in no shape to set out for the next Lightwarden yet. Nor was he in any shape to follow and offer any of his vast knowledge should they call for it. It wasn’t often he didn’t feel like talking, but now was one of those rare days. His muscles ached, his eyes felt bleary and he missed the ability to  _ breathe _ with natural ease.

  
  


Coughing slightly the hero suddenly rose from the bench, peering down at him over her shoulder. “So… what do  _ you  _ want to eat?” she inquired. The question caught him by surprise, causing him to arch an eyebrow as he tiredly raised his head slightly. What was this...? When he didn’t immediately respond she inhaled through her nose, then nodded her head in the direction of the Pendants. “I will not let it be assumed that I’m a woman who doesn’t repay her debts, Ascian. You took care of me even when you didn’t have to, so it would be untoward of me to not do the same for you in return.” She extended her smaller hand towards his, patiently waiting for him to take it and let her help pull his tired, aching body up into a standing position, though once he was standing she let go and began walking in a calm pace. Neither of their lungs were in the shape to  _ jog _ through the Crystarium, that was for sure. For a moment he considered opening a void for them to step through, but it was likely to unsettle the foundation of goodwill she had just shown him and that he wished to build further, the proof that his attempts to bridge the gap between them had been successful.

Even so, he couldn’t resist the urge to force a quip out of his sore throat, hoping it carried some of his usual charisma and wit.

“The  _ same _ , hero…?”

An exasperated sigh rose from her chest, and she gave him a pointed, but not hateful look before she offered a verbal response.

“Do not push your luck. You will have to take your baths when I’m  _ not _ in the room.”

  
That comment did manage to bring some mirth to him, even if it did hurt when the laughter left his lips and he ended up coughing while following the heroic healer towards the Pendants. Truly a caretaker despite her own reduced state, though she was certainly faring better than him now. Even so… things could  _ certainly _ have turned out for the worse than this outcome, he had to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days? I felt inspired and had already planned out the gist of this early on, so it was easier to write. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed and that you will take the time to read fuiture fics that are coming.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a nurse in RL, so it's always fun to apply my medical knowledge and experiences to my fandoms. Somebody gave me the idea of just how much more Ascians would possibly know about medical processes than others in the FFXIV universe, and so this fic was born. More chapters are in the process of being written and I'll try to not take too long to finish up the next one.


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